Twelve Days
by Jael K
Summary: Leonard is back. But is he still part of the team? And what about his...ugh...feelings for Sara? His teammates has something to say about both things...but they only have so long to do it. Minor angst, but ultimately pure fluff. (With a side order of slight cheese.) Twelve short chapters, to be posted one a day until Dec. 25.
1. Chapter 1

Yeah, as if I didn't have anything else to write. :) Twelve short chapters, to be posted one a day until Dec. 25. (OK, one random day will have two chapters because I'm starting late.)

...

 _On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

xxx

Raymond, in his paroxysm of holiday spirit, has hung mistletoe in the entry to the bridge.

Leonard stops in his tracks—after casting quickly about to make sure no opportunistic teammates are nearby—and glares at it. It's quite a dire expression for such as innocent bit of greenery, really, and even he knows it's overkill. But he can't quite help himself.

He's put up with the garland around the holo table. The tree in the galley. Even the crackling fireplaces Gideon has been persuaded to air on every view screen in their rooms. But this…

"So, what'd that mistletoe ever do to you?"

He jumps; he can't quite help himself. It's not easy to sneak up on him, even when he's distracted; he knows this on a level that's beyond humility or bravado. But she can do it.

She's always been able to do it.

He turns his head to regard her. Sara is standing a few feet away—out of reach on a number of levels, and the thought causes a pang that he buries deep down. She's barely spoken to him in the weeks since the team had stolen him back from the Legion and Gideon had restored his memories. He can't blame her, really; he'd done some shitty things during his brief time with them, but he hadn't _known_ ….

"Personally? Nothing," he drawls, drawing habit around him as a shield and shroud. "Let's just say I'm not fond of its kind."

Sara's eyes remain cool, but she takes a step closer and raises an eyebrow. "Do tell."

It's the most she's said to him since…since…

Somehow, the words bubble up. She's always been able to do that to him, too. "Hmm. Well, last time, it was someone I was working with on a job. Turns out he did it to distract me from the fact the other guy on the job was pulling a double-cross." He gives her a chilly smile. "He wasn't that good a kisser; it didn't work."

Her lips actually twitch, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't leave either, though.

He hesitates. Prevaricate and deflect? Or would truth help? "Only other time was high school. Before I dropped out."

That does get a reaction, a true flicker of surprise in her eyes as she meets his. Suddenly, he makes a connection, pushes on recklessly. "One of the smartest girls in school. Pretty. Not rich, but far more solidly middle-class than the jailbait son of Lewis Snart could even be." He shrugs. "I didn't even realize I was standing under the thing until she was there in front of me. It was just a peck, but…"

He folds his arms. "You could have knocked me over with a feather. She turned and ran back to the stairwell and I was still standing there. I spent the whole weekend daydreaming about her; got the shit beaten outta me by my dad for being distracted. I had this whole Romeo-and-Juliet thing going on in my head…went back to school with great plans for asking her out, starting skulking around her locker….

He smirks at the startled-looking Sara. "And I hear her admitting to her friends that it was a pity kiss. They were giving her a lot of grief about it… imagine kissing skinny juvenile delinquent Leonard Snart! She was quite embarrassed. Never looked twice at me again. So, yeah, pity kiss? Far worse than no kiss at all."

There. He gives her a thin, humorless smile and turns to walk back to his room.

Sara finds her voice behind him. "Wait a second, asshole. Is this about…the Oculus?"

It hadn't been, at first. He hadn't intended it to be, but… "I don't like pity, Canary. Save it for someone who needs it."

She's in front of him, then, eyes flashing, hands on her hips. "You _jerk_. You don't _know_ …."

"You've barely said two words to me since Gideon restored my memories," he hisses at her, fighting to keep the words cool, to keep himself from letting more emotion in. "I get it, OK? Not like you had any idea the whole 'death' thing was going to stick for me about as well as it did for you. Probably seemed harmless enough, right? Kiss I didn't have to steal? Now I'm back, you've thought better of it."

He straightens, steps back, tries to regather himself. "And that's your right, right? Your prerogative. But don't pretend that me and you…that you give a shit, OK? I'm outta here as soon as we get back to the right time and place, like I said before. Guess I just had to get that off my chest."

He turns around again, trying to get his bearings, realizing that he's under that damned mistletoe again. He hears a…well, _growl_ is probably the most accurate word…from behind him, but he's not going to look, he's already regretting opening his fool mouth at all, he needs to just _leave_ …

And then Sara is there. She's moved so recklessly, for her, that she's actually a little off-balance; she almost falls against him and he reaches out without even thinking about it to catch her and then her body is flush against his, thigh to shoulder and…

He barely notices, though, because her hands are wrapped around the lapels of his jacket, and her mouth is on his.

She tastes sweet, he thinks, ridiculously, as they both move to deepen the kiss almost involuntarily. Sweet and cool and … her tongue grazes his bottom lip and then darts past it, and then _cool_ is not precisely the word he'd use to describe how this feels.

It's mere seconds; it's days; it's millennia. It's infinitely longer than the kiss at the Oculus and if there were two brain cells left in his head to think about it, he'd say that this is definitely not a pity kiss, this is a force of nature and….

And then, on a shaky breath, Sara breaks the kiss. He makes an involuntary noise of protest and opens his eyes and gazes into hers for one beat, two.

She lets go of his coat, steadies herself and takes a step back as he hastily yanks his hands from where they'd come to rest on her hips. He stares at her, speechless, reading something in her eyes but utterly at a loss as far as what to do about it.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, shakes her head and opens them again. Then she turns on her heel. "Pity, my ass," he hears her growl as she stalks away.

And for once, Leonard Snart hasn't the foggiest idea what to do next.

xxx

 _...a crook who came back to me._


	2. Chapter 2

_On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

xxx

"That conceited...arrogant...goddamned...fuckin' asshole!" Her language is not becoming of the captain of a time ship and a team leader, Sara thinks to herself to she stalks back down the hallway to her quarters. She also doesn't damn well care.

She'd thought about ducking into the galley to grab some tea—that had been where she'd been heading when she'd seen Leonard glaring at the mistletoe as if it had personally offended him and made the mistake of opening her mouth. But she catches the merest glimpse of Amaya heading into the room...and she really doesn't want to talk to anyone else right now. The tea will wait.

The door to her quarters slides open at her approach and she slips inside. "Gideon, I don't want to be disturbed unless it's an emergency, OK? And I don't mean the usual low-level brand of chaos that passes for 'emergency' around here. Nothing less than a real crisis."

"Yes, Ms. Lance."

She sits down on her bunk and scrubs her hands over her face and through her hair, disturbed to find her eyes just a little wet. Her mouth is still tingling from the force of that kiss and the rest of her...

Leonard had been right. She hasn't really addressed more than a word or two to him since he returned to the ship and regained most of his memories. She hasn't been sure what he remembered, hadn't been sure what to say, and it just seemed easier to wait for him...

But he's been eerily silent too, speaking mainly to Mick or, oddly, to Jax. She kept thinking he'd show up at her door, waving that pack of cards, ready to resume the card games and conversations that had been pretty much daily occurrences before everything went all to hell, back before the Vanishing Point and ...

 _"...what_ _the future might hold for me...and you...and me and you..."_

That future has moved on. It's too late. It has to be too late...right? She's the captain now. He's just a...just a crook who used to be a teammate. A former member of the Legion of Doom, albeit one who turned at the end. And in a little more than a week's time, he'll be gone.

"Just eleven more days," she mutters to herself. "Then he's out of my...our hair. Forever. I don't have to think about it anymore."

So why does the very thought hurt her heart so much?

* * *

"Why is Sara using such extremely bad language?" Amaya wonders out loud as she turns away from the door and looks at the man who's slouched at the galley counter. Mick looks up from his cup of coffee and shrugs, a gesture she takes as encouragement to wander closer.

"God knows, around here," he grunts. "Haircut and Pretty Boy still going all Christmas on the ship? That'd make anyone swear. Gideon's been quiet. Gideon? Anything crazy happen?"

The pause before the ship's AI speaks is a trifle longer than usual, something that makes Mick frown. "There is no crisis, Mr. Rory," she says finally. "I believe Ms. Lance's turmoil is...personal."

Amaya bites her lip as she leans on the counter next to him. "She just came from the bridge area and...stalked is probably the best word for it...back to her room," she notes. "It seemed a bit more agitated than mere exasperation."

"Huh." Mick looks over as the door opens and Jax sidles into the room, still gazing out into the hall as if he's distracted by something. "Kid," he calls, "any idea why Sara just stormed through here like her tail feathers were on fire, cussing up a storm?"

Jax has stopped dead in his tracks, though, and looks a bit wild-eyed.

"Oh," he says. "The mistletoe. And...Snart."

"What?" Mick straightens out of his slouch. Amaya glances at him, then back at Jax, eyes widening.

"You know. The mistletoe Ray hung up by the bridge. I don't think they know I saw them." The youngest member of the team looks embarrassed. "One minute we're talking major liplock, like 'get a room' _major_ , the next minute, Sara's stomping away and Snart looks like she'd stabbed him."

Amaya blinks, then looks back at Mick. "I did not know they were..."

The former criminal grunts. "Neither did I. Well...maybe I did. Sort of." He's quiet a long moment, then shakes his head. "Explains a lot, actually."

"What does?" Ray strolls into the galley, followed, moments later, by Nate. "Mick! We were looking for you. Gideon made that part..."

But the bigger man, still looking lost in thought, has held up a hand and the scientist stutters to a halt, looking a bit taken aback for the command inherent in the gesture. Amaya hesitates, then fills him in, relating the events of the last little while in a low tone.

Nate looks stunned, but Ray...Ray does not. In fact, a look of profound understanding crosses his face and his shoulders slump as he glances over his shoulder as if in the direction of their captain's quarters.

"She was pretty upset when he died. Err...'died.' " He sketches air quotes. "But she buried it almost immediately. I've seen it before. Heck...I've done it before. I should have realized. And Snart...wow. Yeah, that explains a lot."

"Gideon," Mick says abruptly, "how long did you say before we're back in Central City 2016?"

"Eleven days from now, Mr. Rory," the AI tells him. "The delay in the trip is due to some interesting time fluctuations that we are skirting. We should arrive right on Christmas Day, which is the reason Drs. Palmer and Heywood got so...carried away with the festive décor."

"I like Christmas," Ray mutters to himself. "And we haven't been able to celebrate it in how long now? What's wrong with that?"

The others ignore him. Amaya glances at Mick again. While the general consensus had been that Leonard Snart would leave the Waverider when it arrived back in late 2016, Mick hasn't said a word about whether he'll go, too. And she's been too proud to ask.

Mick hesitates another long moment, then nods, decisely. He turns toward the other four. "We want him back on the team or not? He did some shit, I know. But..."

Ray is already pointing at him. "So did you," he points out. "I mean...sorry. Not recently. But in the beginning. People change, right?"

The look Mick gives him is odd. "Right," is all he says, though. "Now, Snart and Blondie...I don't pretend to know all that, but they deserve better. And maybe it just needs someone...someones...to pull their heads outta their asses. Gideon...where are they now?"

"They are in their separate quarters, Mr. Rory," the AI says quietly. "They are both profoundly unhappy and full of regret." She pauses. "I am...not human, to understand the full spectrum of emotion and the complicated nature of human affection...

"But if I had to guess...perhaps the term 'hypothesize' is better...I would say they miss each other. And being so near and yet so far is hurting them both." Her tone gets a touch prim. "I _am_ programmed to encourage the mental, physical, and emotional health of my crew. Perhaps helping you will do that."

Mick grunts. "Started all the way back to St. Roch," he says. "I'm an idiot. If I'd understood... I thought...eh, doesn't matter what I thought. So...we doin' this?" He looks around at the team. "Seein' if we can fix this for the two of them? I know the bo...Snart did some bad stuff when he didn't remember, but they've both given up a lot for us. Seems right we try, anyway."

Amaya, smiling just a little, reaches out to nudge his arm. "I'm in." She gets a small smile and a grunt of appreciation for her words.

"Me too," adds Jax. "And I'll talk to Gray."

"I'm in," Ray says. Nate glances around the rest of them, then shrugs.

"Sure. Why not?" he observes. "If it hadn't been for Mr. Snart, there wouldn't have been any Legends left for me to find. So...

"Let's do this."

xxx

 _...two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me_.


	3. Chapter 3

Yeah, I know this isn't playing out to be one day after another in the story. But collectively, it _will_ be 12 days for them. ;) Thank you for all the comments! I hope you're enjoying it.

...

 _On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

Leonard knows that he's haunting the ship like the ghost he isn't, avoiding everything and everybody—especially Sara Lance.

It hasn't been hard, though...ever since that kiss at the mistletoe, she's barely even looked at him. He enters a room; she leaves. The ship is effectively at the equivalent of cruising height in the time stream, on its way back to take him back to Central City. She doesn't really have to be anywhere she doesn't want to be.

And she obviously doesn't want to be anywhere that also contains Leonard Snart.

Just 10 more days, he thinks to himself as he pauses outside the galley. And he'll never have to see any of them again. He's trying to reassure himself—but the thought hurts anyway. Damn it.

It's obvious to anyone with eyes that Mick's not going to be leaving with him. This place is his home now; Mick Rory is a hero. And a hero with a new partner, of sorts—he's not so blind that doesn't see the glances, the words, the…ehhh…feelings between Mick and the new girl.

Better Mick than him. He's swearing off feelings.

On that thought, he enters the galley, pausing as he sees Stein sitting at the counter with Jax hovering next to him. The kid promptly looks guilty…why?...and straightens with a nod and murmured "hey" before leaving the room. Leonard frowns. Jax has been one teammate…former teammate…who's actually been talking to him. This new development pains him more than he cares to admit.

But Stein watches his partner-in-Firestorm go, then turns to the new arrival, tucking a bit of paper into the book he'd been reading and raising an eyebrow.

"Mr. Snart. I regret to say that no one's really cooked dinner tonight; most people have just been grabbing something to go." He shakes his head. "Mr. Rory absconded with a six-pack of beer, though I believe Ms. Jiwe made him also grab some carrot sticks."

He can't help it; he drifts closer. "Cooked dinner? Far more organized than it…than it used to be."

"Before you left us the first time?" Stein's eyes are direct. "Well…I think everyone expected that mission to be temporary and rather…fly by the seat of the pants, as it were. At a certain point into our new mission, it became clear that it was a cooking rotation or nothing but junk food—albeit Gideon-produced 'healthy' junk food—from here on out."

 _Left us the first time_. Leave it to old Silvertop to make it sound like he'd gone out for a stroll, not nearly sacrificed himself to destroy the Oculus, been kidnapped at the last possible millisecond by an opportunistic speedster, had his memory buried deep within layers of brainwashing, fought his former teammates as part of that ridiculously named Legion of Doom, and only fought his way out of it for reasons he still can't fully fathom.

He simply shrugs. "Sounds like I missed out."

"Hmm. Well, in a way. There were some rough times. And I understand you didn't have it easy, even if you didn't remember."

He still has the nightmares. He doubts they're going away anytime soon. "Something like that."

Stein watches him for a moment, then pushes back from the counter, rising with book in hand. "Well. You were missed, Mr. Snart. There are provisions for meals in the refrigerator, if you wish…"

"Missed?" Somehow the feelings…ugh…bubble up again. "No one on this goddamned ship will even talk to me. I fuckin' thought I was saving this mission and except for Mick…somewhat…and a few words from Jax, it's been...and Sara…" He stops abruptly, pressing his lips together rather than say anything else.

He actually sees a flicker of surprise in Stein's eyes. "Mr. Snart, I..." The man stops, shakes his head. "I am sorry. I had been under the impression that you wanted nothing to do with your former teammates. I believe the words you used were 'goddamned mistake.' And other more... pungent epithets."

He's speaking, however, to a pair of hunched shoulders as the crook shrugs him off, turning away.

"Whatever," Leonard mutters. "Didn't do it for a ticker tape parade. Savage is dead. City's safe."

"He is. And it is." A hesitation from Stein. "As is the team."

Another irritable shrug as Leonard pulls open the fridge door and studies the contents. "Such as it is."

"You are unhappy with the current composition of the team? Ms. Jiwe? Dr. Heywood? Captain...well, Mr. Hunter, as he asserts he doesn't want the captaincy back...will be returning after our current trip to Central City, after he, as he says, cleans up a certain mess. I believe Sara will remain as captain...she has done a remarkable job..."

He's removed a bottle of milk, but now slams it down on the counter just a little too forcefully. "I have no...feelings...one way or another about any of you lunatics."

But Stein's eyes are kind.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Snart. But you _were_ missed," the other man says quietly. "Understand that for us, it had been quite some time since...well. Since the Oculus. We had time to come to grips with your loss, even if some...such as Mr. Rory and Ms. Lance...never really got over it.

"But people keep living. And since you have a second chance, you should as well."

* * *

"Gray! Perfect job stalling him, man. So he's actually cooking something and Sara's on her way here. She's always starving when she skips dinner earlier; she'll have to..."

"Honestly, Jefferson…I think perhaps some of us have been remiss in talking to Mr. Snart about his absence and his role with the team. There were, perhaps, assumptions made. The man with whom I just spoke seemed, to be frank, a little bit...lost. Lonely, even." A sigh. "And quite angry, for a variety of complicated reasons. I think it's easier—and sadly, far more familiar-for him to lean on that. "

"Man, I've been the one person, besides Mick, who _is_ talking to him. And he said he couldn't take this, and I quote, 'hero stuff' and wanted to go home. I heard him. That wasn't just an assumption."

"Methinks the fellow may have protested too much. And I've been just as remiss as everyone else. And I knew...well, I may have suspected some of the issues under the surface.

"Jefferson, if you...OK, OK, _we_ persist in this matchmaking, we cannot ignore those. Or we simply risk making things worse."

xxx

 _...three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	4. Chapter 4

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _..._

Sara _is_ starving.

As she makes her way through the corridors toward the galley, she wonders idly if anyone bothered to cook dinner recently. The usual pattern has fallen off lately, and she hasn't bothered to try to reinstate it. There's nothing pressing and everyone seems reasonably healthy. There's only so much "team mom" shit she can take.

Well, if not, she'll manage. She _can_ cook for herself. She just doesn't really like to, and to be honest, she's tired.

But today, it seems, she's lucky. When the door to the galley slides open in front of her, she's met by an aroma so enticing that she just stands and takes a deep breath. Ah. Must be Ray. Or Mick or Stein…both can produce some decent food if they bother to take the time.

"That smells amazing!" she calls as she turns to reach for a glass from the cupboard near the door. "Did you make enough for two? Rules…"

She turns around and takes a step toward the sink…bringing the person standing in front of the stove into view.

Looking a bit like a deer in headlights, Leonard stares back at her, spatula in hand. Whatever luscious-smelling thing is sizzling in the pan in front of him makes a sudden crackle and he turns back to it abruptly, working the spatula around the edges before glancing back at her.

There's something wary and…hurt?...in his eyes and her mind goes blank.

"Ah," she says carefully. "I didn't realize. I…can…"

Her stomach, however, chooses that moment to rumble audibly. A corner of his mouth lifts in what's not quite a smile before he looks back to the stove.

"I made plenty," he says to the pan in front of him. "If you like omelets and don't have anything against goat cheese, garlic, and basil. Or me."

Her stomach growls again. And suddenly, she decides it's not worth it to keep avoiding him. Not if he can _cook_.

 _You're a hedonist, Lance._

 _Just practical,_ she tells herself sternly _._

"Can I help with anything?" she asks tentatively _._

"Hm. Plates? And whatever you want to drink." He keeps his eyes on the skillet. "This is almost done."

She retrieves a few of the unbreakable, recyclable, not-quite-plastic plates the ship is stocked with and puts them down near him with utensils, getting a murmured "thanks," and then gets herself a glass of water. And a moment, she gets him one too, loading it with ice in the way she'd noticed, what seems like decades ago, that he liked to drink it.

When she returns to the counter, he's slid half of a fairly massive omelet onto each plate. It looks good and smells better and her mouth is watering. Belatedly, she recalls Mick telling her about how Leonard taught himself to cook just to make sure he and Lisa had decent meals. But this is the first time she's seen those particular skills in action.

 _Just another thing we missed out on._ But she tamps the thought down, picks up her fork, gives him a quiet "thank you" (received with a quick jerk of the head that might be a nod) and sets to it, as does he.

He eats quickly, eyes on his plate, and she can see the skinny, underfed kid she knows he used to be in the efficient way he puts away the food. He glances up at one point and she realizes she's staring, can feel her cheeks heat as she reapplies herself to the omelet. Which is fantastic.

When she gets down to the very last bites, she finds herself dawdling, poking at the last piece or two, trying to draw out this bizarrely domestic little interlude as long as possible. Which is ridiculous, given that she's been avoiding _him_. But there it is.

Leonard seems to feel the same way, from the way he's staring at his empty plate but not moving to rise or depart. Finally, he lifts his head, meeting her eyes for about a millisecond before glancing away.

"All this Christmas stuff around had me thinking…" he starts, and she flinches involuntarily, thoughts of "me and you" and _feelings_ rising up between them.

He stops, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably before resuming. "Thought I'd make some cocoa," he says, again failing to meet her gaze. "If you want…"

 _Ooooh_. Chocolate.

"Oh, I would love some cocoa," she says, making no attempt to hide the longing in her voice. "If you really don't mind, that would be great."

Leonard Snart makes hot cocoa the old-fashioned way, with cocoa powder and milk and vanilla and sugar. She perches at the counter and watches him whisk the mixture over the stove, pausing just long enough to retrieve two mugs for the finished product.

She barks out a laugh as she sees the mug he's using. "That one? You? Is that where that thing came from?""

That gets one of those sideways smiles, as he looks at the ridiculous little reindeer mug she's seen sitting in the cupboard, although no one ever uses it.

"I like this mug," he tells her. "It's…festive."

"There's got to be a story there," she comments before she can think about it, briefly reverting to the days when little bits and pieces of their pasts would slip out over cards and booze and each was starting to know the other better than just about anyone else out there...

So he tells her about Barry Allen and hot cocoa and mini marshmallows…with an abstract glare at the ceiling in a way that seems to indict Gideon for the lack of the confection on board. He doesn't comment on why he had Gideon create one of the things and she doesn't ask. She's met Barry Allen now. He's cute. (Maybe not as cute as Supergirl, but, hey...)

"Refill?"

"Please." She watches as he whisks the cocoa to frothiness again, then refills both her utilitarian mug and that ridiculous reindeer mug, returning to hand it back to her.

Their fingers touch. Just a brush. But enough to send a tingle up her arm. She sucks in a quick breath, cursing her own reactions…and cursing inwardly even more when he pulls his hand away as if he'd burned it.

But he doesn't leave. They sit and drink their cocoa in companionable silence. It's unbelievable, Sara thinks, that none of the others have interrupted this, but she's glad.

Finally, Leonard shakes his head and gets to his feet, picking up his mug and hers before lifting his head and looking her right in the eyes for more than a second for the first time since...the mistletoe.

"You don't have to avoid me quite that thoroughly, OK?" he says quietly. "I'm not going to say another thing about the...about the Oculus...or anything like..."

"Leonard… "

"It's OK," he interrupts her. "Shouldn't have opened my big mouth, all right? You shouldn't feel guilty or any shit like that. You didn't know. And like I said, your prerogative." He takes the mugs, turns back toward the sink. "Ten more days, then…"

"Len!" She's followed him, and her hand slaps down onto the counter hard enough to make him start, and that laser-like blue-green gaze glares at her a moment before sliding away.

"Shut up," she tells him gently, "and let me help you with the dishes."

He looks back, blinks at her, then nods.

* * *

"Why do I feel we're in 'Beauty and the Beast?' "

"You can be the clock. I'm definitely the candlestick."

"No, you're the teapot."

"So, which one's the beast? Sara or Snart?"

"Sara's scarier."

"And Snart's sort of good-looking…um…hey, it's those eyes!"

"I don't believe you people…"

xxx

 _...four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	5. Chapter 5

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

In the day or two after their impromptu meal together in the galley, it's both better and worse, Leonard thinks.

Better, because she's no longer avoiding him, and it's uncanny how much better that makes him feel about, well, everything. (A sensation he's choosing not to examine too much.) Worse, because...it makes it even harder to take the loss of their previous...their earlier...the way things were before the Oculus.

His... _gah_ , he has to use the word...feelings for her, to his surprise, have surged back from whatever corner they'd been crammed into during his time with the Legion and this few handfuls of days afterward. (The physical attraction, too, but that's always been there. He'll own that.)

He has to keep from the leaning-in that comes so naturally, the suggestive smirks, the innuendo that she once would have rolled her eyes at before smiling back. He wants desperately to show up at her door and wave the pack of cards at her, to sit and drink and complain about the others and gradually start confiding in each other again...to talk about _me and you_...

But, no. He follows Sara's lead, because that seems like the most respectful thing to do for her. And Sara is keeping it professional.

So. Very. Damned. Professional.

She doesn't leave now, when he enters a room. She includes him in conversations. She smiles at him. It's a friendly smile, perhaps a trifle cool, the one she once reserved for Ray at his puppiest or "Leonard, you're being an ass."

It's not the old grin. Not for him.

He misses the days when it was the two of them gravitating back to each other in the midst of the bigger team. Crook and assassin. Square pegs in the round holes. Sometimes—pre- and post-Chronos—with Mick. Sometimes just the two of them.

Now, Sara _is_ the team. The captain. Where does that leave the team malcontent?

Mick—no longer the holder of that title-is in the study, well, studying some of the temporal charts. They haven't had much of a chance to talk since the ship's course had been set back to 2016, but Mick has requested this meeting, and Leonard's pretty sure he knows what it's about.

He's right.

"I'm not leaving the ship," the other man, his oldest friend, tells him, keeping his eyes on the chart. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

God, Mick has changed. "Figured."

The other man looks up at the bored tone. "And you?"

"Said I was going to leave. That's why we're heading back, right? What reason do I have to stay?" God, his tone is bitter. He can hear it, and if he can hear it, Mick can hear it. The man's always been more perceptive...if he allows himself to be...than he's given credit for.

Mick's eyes do narrow. "Well," he grunts, reaching out to adjust the temporal chart like an expert. Which he probably is. "There's the team."

That elicits a snort from Leonard...and a glare from Mick. "Don't tell me you don't care about the team," Mick tells him sharply. "Not after what you did."

"Don't like my strings being pulled." No, neither one of them will address that his intended sacrifice also saved Mick's life. They'll avoid that, just like Mick will avoid the "partner" card in trying to get him to stay on the ship. It's just not what they _do_.

"Don't give me that crap. That's not all it was." Now Mick sounds pissed.

He's right, but... "I'm not a part of this team anymore."

"You could be." The other man's voice is low. "We could really use you. And I'm not used to working without a partner."

Huh. Or maybe Mick _will_ go there. Leonard starts to say something, stops, a sudden and unexpected current of anger rising.

"Seems like you're doing well enough," he says, allowing the anger to show in his voice. "You let Raymond break my gun..."

"You fixed it."

"...and you certainly seem to be cozy enough with one of the newbies. Little angel on your shoulder, Mick? Telling you that you're part of this team? You sure you trust her?" To be honest, he hasn't a goddamned thing against Amaya Jiwe. It's just that she's a convenient potential chink in Mick's armor, a way to show his feelings—there's the word again-about his former partner's seeming defection.

Suddenly, he wonders if this is how Mick felt in Star City 2046…and afterward.

The other man doesn't react like he once would have. He just regards Leonard in turn. "Angel, huh? Maybe you need your own," is all he says.

Mick doesn't know about his feel...his thoughts about Sara. He can't. And if he does, Leonard sure as hell isn't talking about them now.

He turns on his heel and stalks away.

* * *

Sara, for her part, isn't bothering to deny she has feelings. She's just not allowing them to affect her. Or so she tells herself. Repeatedly.

Leonard is leaving. He hasn't taken back those words, hasn't told them to turn around. She cannot allow herself to be...she _is_ attached, she recognizes that now, but she cannot allow herself to act on it. This is his decision. She will not influence it. Even if she could.

She's not sure if she could or not. That's one of the things that's bugging her.

 _If I said I..._

She's taking out some of her frustrations in the training room, sending a series of throwing knives into the target at one end, one after another. She's concentrating on placing them precisely, keeping her mind occupied, trying not to succumb to the temptation to...

 _Thwack, thwack. Thwack, thwack. Thwack._

And that's where Amaya Jiwe finds her this day, seven days before the Waverider is scheduled to touch down in Central City on Christmas Day 2016.

"Mr. Snart seems like he is fitting in better with the team." Her tentative voice reaches Sara's ears as the latter jerks the knives out of the target and returns to the far end of the room.

 _Thwack, thwack. Thwack, thwack. Thwack._

"Seems to be."

"Do you think he might decide to stay after all?"

This is precisely what she doesn't want to think about. "I haven't the foggiest idea." Pause. "I doubt it."

 _Thwack, thwack. Thwack, thwack. Thwack._

Amaya seems to read the hint in her cool tone, but she doesn't take it. Instead, her chin jerks up and her eyes flash. "You don't have an opinion on this? You do not think he would be an asset to your...our...mission?"

 _Thwack_. Sara pulls the single knife out of the center of the target and turns to her, ire in her own eyes. "What the hell brought this on?"

The other woman meets her gaze with a frown. "Well. Mr. Rory...Mick...has only just gotten his friend back. And doesn't this team care about Mr. Snart? He nearly sacrificed his life for them and your previous mission. Don't you want..."

But Sara interrupts her. If she admits it, she's a little scared to hear what the other woman might say.

"You want to know what the hell that damned..." _Thwack_. "...stubborn..." _Thwack_. "…crook..." _Thwack_. "...is thinking?" _Thwack_. "Ask him." _THWACK_. "I'm not going to."

"Why not?"

 _He has to want this. If he stays, it has to be_ his _decision. He has to make the choice to stay with m…_

But that answer goes unspoken. Sara leaves her knives right in the target, grabs her towel and water bottle and heads back to her room.

* * *

"Gideon, where is Mr. Rory?"

At the AI's response, Amaya walks quickly through the corridors, heading for the study, a space once the haven of a man she's barely met, now a spot where the team often gathers to talk strategy (such as it is) and plan. She arrives just as Mick is leaving, runs into him quite literally, headlong, and catches herself by grace that is a function of years of martial arts training.

His arms go around her briefly, and he actually leaves them there for a heartbeat before dropping them, leaving behind a sensation of warmth...and a rising warmth in her cheeks. For he can be warm, this man, and not in a bad way. She thinks he is only starting to realize that.

However, that is not what they're there to talk about. They both speak at once.

"I think I might have just made things worse."

xxx

 _...five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	6. Chapter 6

_On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…_

 _xxx_

"So they're…what? Both being all _honorable_ about this? Really?" The look of disgust on Mick's face is almost amusing. Amaya rolls her eyes at him.

"I think Sara wants Mr. Snart to make any decision, to stay or to leave, on his own," she tells him. "You can understand that."

"Hmm. Yeah." The two share a smile before Stein clears his throat and breaks up the moment.

"I told you that that Mr. Snart apparently had…issues…feeling like he could be part of this team again," the professor reminds them. "Almost abandonment issues, if I could play armchair psychologist."

Mick grunts. "Given that his mom died and left him and Lisa alone with his asshole father when he was real young, yeah, wouldn't doubt it. And then we…moved on…got new team members…gave away his gun…"

He frowns, an expression turned inward. Amaya lays a hand on his arm gently.

"You had no reason at all to think he wasn't dead," she says.

"Maybe. But doesn't mean it doesn't hurt now. Funny, we spent years saying we didn't have hearts. Feelings were for losers." He shrugs. "Hard to admit it's not true. I know it. But…"

Stein is still on a roll. "I told you not to press him too much too soon…"

"All right, all right, Gray, everyone gets it." And Jax is playing mediator. "So, what do we do _now_?"

They all look at each other, the four of them, there where they've congregated in the so-called rec room. Stein has paused in his latest book, while Mick sits on the sofa, Amaya curled—not too close, but not too far away-nearby. Jax, who is pacing, pauses to answer his own question with another question.

"Make Snart feel like he's part of the team?" He shrugs. "But how do we do that without, as Gray says, scaring him off?"

Mick snorts. "Yeah, that sort of thing would be bound to spook him," he says. "Better not let…"

He pauses.

"Where _is_ Haircut anyway?"

* * *

The ridiculous tree now has ornaments on it. Leonard, in the galley in search of something to drink—and, just perhaps, to see if Sara might care for more hot cocoa—stares at it, bemused. There are only three, so far, and they seem to be a haphazard bunch of items: a white bird with smooth fake feathers, a small candle with a flickering electric flame, a shiny globe composed of some sort of metal…

"It's steel. Get it?"

Just what he needs. "Get _what_ , Raymond?"

"Steel?" The scientist grins at him, as always undeterred by his best glare. "For Nate. Candle's for Mick. Better than a real one, right? White canary…well, it's supposed to be a dove, I think…for Sara. I have a couple different ones for everyone."

Oh. He makes a noncommittal noise, but Raymond continues. "I found a little glass fox for Amaya, and a few other animals. A set of book ornaments for Stein and a football and some mechanics' tools for Jax. Even an hourglass for Rip, since he'll be back soon. Oh! And…"

It takes a moment to process what the other man is holding.

"What. The. Hell."

Raymond looks puzzled, glancing at the ornaments in his hand. "Snowflakes," he says. "Um. Could have done icicles, I guess. I like these better."

They're silver and sparkly and just as ridiculous as the damned tree in the galley and for no reason he can think of, Leonard is suddenly enraged by the sight of them.

"What the hell do you think I'd want anything on your goddamned tree?" he barks. "I'm _leaving_. And a few weeks ago, I was trying to kill you. I froze your fuckin' foot to the ground. I actually….actually fired at Sara and Mick. I was working with Darhk and Thawne and Merlyn…"

"But that wasn't _you_. Right? You were brainwashed. I mean, I don't know how, but…"

By sheer force of will, he wrests his thoughts away from _how_ , only to hear his own voice, from recently restored memories, echoing in his head. _…and that's not you anymore…_

His words, somehow, got through to Sara. But she's worth saving. He…

"Keep your damned snowflakes," he snarls at Raymond, who's actually starting to look annoyed. Good. "And your stupid tree. Why the hell would you think that was a good idea? I'm not part of this team, if I ever was. I. Am. Not. A. Hero."

He swipes the ornaments out of Raymond's hand, sending them cascading to the floor. He's oddly pleased that they don't smash, but doesn't think about that, turning to leave the galley and head back to his room.

He only gets partway there.

"Hey! You…Captain Cold!"

The name stops him in his tracks, and he throttles down the anger before turning to confront the man charging so foolishly toward him. Heywood…or as Leonard mentally calls him, Ray Palmer 2.0…slows when he sees the glare directed at him.

But he doesn't stop. The more fool him.

"Why the hell did you do that?" the man demands. He must have heard the exchange with Raymond. "He wanted…"

"You think I give a shit what he wants?"

Heywood…a historian, Leonard recalls….ignores him. He takes a deep breath and glares back at Leonard. "They mourned you."

It makes him pause. But… "No, they didn't," he snaps back before he can help himself, letting more out than he cares to. "Moved right on."

Heywood snorts…snorts!...at him. "You've never seen it, when people won't talk about something because it just hurts too much?" the idiot fires back. "I have. And I saw it here. If they'd just moved on… and it _was_ months ago for them, even if it feels like it was just a few weeks ago for you…they would have dropped references here and there. They didn't. It _hurt_."

He takes another deep breath. "When I was first aboard, Sara, she told me 'out here, even the strongest and the bravest of us die.' I thought she was talking about Captain Hunter." He looks right at Leonard. "Which didn't really make sense. I mean, she knew Captain Hunter was probably still alive, just lost. No. She was talking about _you_. I'm sure of it."

 _Sara said…_ He stares at the historian, at a loss for words. Heywood seems to note the abrupt about-face in his attitude and nods at him.

"You should have seen Sara and Mick when they found out you were alive," he says quietly. "Sara…she's tough. You know that. Well, for just a moment, I thought she was going to cry."

"That happy to hear it, huh." There's the bitterness again. Heywood glares at him.

"You asshole," he says, with no heat. "She lost her sister, you know. She couldn't save her. The chance to save you…you could tell, it meant so much, she had to downplay it a little. It was that way with all of them, to one extent or another. You saved them. They meant to save you. They did that willingly, even with all the stuff the brainwashed _you_ did. You meant that much.

"You want out, great. You're out. But these people mourned you. They did a lot to get you back. Don't act like they don't care about you. Because they do. A lot."

With that, he turns back around and leaves. And once again, Leonard Snart doesn't get to be the one to do the dramatic exit.

* * *

In the time he's been gone, they've all converged on the galley, the team, minus two of the faces he knew before, plus the two new ones. He hovers for an uncertain moment in the entry, then drifts in, wondering as he does if he's going to be told to leave.

That doesn't happen. Mick visibly brightens when he sees him, nodding at Leonard from where he's standing with Jax and Stein. The big man has a lighter in one hand and the professor seems to be visibly trying to talk him out of something. Leonard's mouth twitches. Mick is messing with old Silvertop again.

Sara is standing with Amaya at the far side of the galley and they appear to be talking. He glances at her quickly, then away.

Raymond, over by that sad sack tree, is looking at him, uncertain. (The historian, next to him, is very pointedly _not_.) He sighs, then picks up one of the snowflakes, dangling it from the tip of a finger as he pretends to inspect the ridiculous thing.

Huh. Pretty. He's a world-class jewel thief. He can appreciate sparkle.

And so he sighs again, turns toward the tree and, with a roll of the eyes to show that he's really not into this whole Christmas thing, slides it casually onto the tip of a branch. Raymond beams. He hears Mick chuckle. God, his reputation is going to be shot. He shakes his head and glances away.

And Sara is looking at him across the room. She's smiling.

She's _really_ smiling. The old smile. The "aren't these people idiots?" smile.

Somehow he'd always failed to recognize the second half of that sentiment, though. The "but they're _our_ idiots" half.

He's seeing it now, though, clear as day.

After a moment, he smiles back.

xxx

… _six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	7. Chapter 7

_On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

"Well, that has to be promising, right?" Ray sounds predictably upbeat the next day as they all meet back in the galley. The scientist has even convinced Gideon to make a drink that's similar enough to eggnog as makes no difference, and he's pouring glasses for everyone present. "I mean, they were looking at each other like they used to... and now I _really_ don't understand how I didn't catch that before."

"Don't get too cocky, Haircut." Mick accepts a glass of the 'nog, promptly pulling out a flask and pouring in a healthy dose of rum. He offers the flask to Amaya, who demurs with a smile. (Nate, however, immediately accepts.)

"Snart hasn't asked us to change the course to Central City," he continues. "And there's not really any other reason he'd want to go there. These days, Lisa always spends Christmas out of town... somewhere warm. And I don't think he'd do it just for the fun of baiting Barry Allen." He looks thoughtful. "I don't think..."

"You don't think what?" Jax enters the room. "Gray's on his way. Hey, eggnog!"

Mick ignores the question. He does offer Jax the flask, which is declined, although a glass of eggnog is accepted. (Stein, entering moments afterward, declines the eggnog, but allows himself a small amount of rum neat.)

Once everyone has their beverage of choice (and Gideon has assured them that their topics of conversation are in the rec room and quarters respectively), Ray leans against the counter and sighs.

"Why doesn't someone just ask him if he'll change his mind?" he asks a trifle plaintively. "He cared about the mission enough to, well, you know. You really think that means nothing now?"

Mick, though, shakes his head. "Has to be Blondie," he says. "The boss...Snart's got too much pride. She doesn't want him, he'd never get all creepy about it. But he won't stay, either. He'll skulk home and act like he never gave a shit. I've seen him do it. And no, I'm not giving out any more details."

Amaya peers into her drink, a thoughtful look on her face.

"She does want him to stay," she says. "When I talked to her, it was very apparent. But... she wants him to decide that on his own."

Stein shakes his head. "A real catch-22, as they say," he observes, smiling when Amaya looks a question at him. "You can borrow the book, Ms. Jiwe. A no-win situation."

Nate takes a slug of his drink and laughs a little.

"Let's just lock them in a room together until they figure it out," he says. "Come on! Tell me you haven't thought about that."

In the speculative silence that follows the words, Gideon speaks. "I could do that," the AI offers. "As I said, it is in my programming to see to the welfare of my crew. If it seemed needful..."

The silence lingers. "That's just a little disturbing," Jax comments finally. "Doesn't anyone else think that's a little disturbing?"

Mick grunts. "Not yet, Gideon." He takes a thoughtful drink of spiked eggnog. "Not yet..."

* * *

Gideon tells him that Sara's in the rec room. Leonard hesitates, but thanks the AI. He finds himself quite loath to do anything to disrupt the silent communion they'd found yesterday, but there's something he really needs to say. Not matter how uncomfortable it makes him.

But when he gets there, he pauses, because she's playing cards.

Solitaire, to be specific. Like he'd been playing solitaire alone in the cargo bay that one day so long ago when she'd come looking for him... and suggested a hand of gin. He watches her for a long moment from the doorway, fully aware that she is conversely fully aware of his presence.

For the millionth time, it seems, he wonders how he could have ever forgotten that he knows her, that he...

Finally, he strolls into the room, trying for nonchalance, scuffing his footfalls just enough that she knows he's not trying to sneak up on her. It seems wisest.

"Hey."

"Hey." She turns her head just a little, showing no sign of surprise, and watches him as he wanders up and leans on the table a few feet away. She doesn't move to rise or leave, and he draws a spark of courage from that.

"I..." He stops, shakes his head and considers his words a moment. Glancing up, he gauges Sara's expression... and abruptly realizes that she might think he's going somewhere completely different with this impromptu conversation.

It unnerves him, and so he does something he never, ever does: he just blurts the words out. "I'm sorry about your sister. I didn't know."

"Thank you," she says automatically, then leans back in her chair. "Wait a minute. You didn't know? You were... working with _him_... and you didn't know?"

"Why would he tell me?" He tilts his head and looks at her. "If I understand it correctly, that version of Darhk hadn't even done...that... yet. And they wanted to keep me unaware I'd ever known you, right?

"And then there were too many other things going on... no one on the ship mentioned it... until yesterday. I looked up the, ah, details. Sara, I'm sorry."

She gazes at him, surprise still on her face, and then abruptly squeezes her eyes shut, an expression of such pain that he involuntarily reaches out to her before arresting the motion. If he'd felt guilty before, he feels horrible now.

It's a new sensation. He doesn't like it.

"I wanted you here so much," she tells him, eyes still closed. "I knew you'd understand. I kept thinking that if you'd been here, then you'd have helped me find a way to save her. To get around Rip's assertion that we couldn't." She opens her eyes, gives him a wry look. "Or at least tell him off for me if we couldn't."

 _She thinks I could have..._

"I would have, you know," he tells her seriously. "Well. At least that last."

Her lips curve upward in a smile. "I know."

That draws an answering smile out of him, and for a minute, that's all they do. Smile at each other in silence. Leonard's not so much of an idiot that he can't see that this is an opportunity, but he's not ready...

"Gin?" he asks abruptly, before he can think better of it. Just the one word.

Sara is silent, but when he glances back at her, she's smiling again.

"I'm rusty," she tells him quietly.

"Me too."

"Well, then. We'll be fairly matched."

* * *

Fueled by eggnog and, in some cases, rum, the conversation in the galley has degenerated into increasingly unlikely—if humorous—ways to get their captain and their crook to talk or engage in more... direct communication.

"You know, Sara'd kill us if she could hear this."

"So would Snart."

"Guess we'll just have to make sure they can't." Grinning, Ray raises his eyes to the ceiling. "Gideon, where's Sara? And Snart?"

"Mr. Snart and Ms. Lance are currently playing cards in the rec room."

Silence.

"Seriously? Jax says finally. "All this and...?"

"I am always serious, Mr. Jackson," Gideon tells him, drawing a snort of laughter from Mick. "And given that most of Mr. Snart and Ms. Lance's more serious discussions have started with cards, this seems promising."

Amaya lets out a satisfied sigh. Mick gives her a smile.

"Well, then," he says, looking around. "More rum?"

xxx

 _...seven teammates plotting_

 _Six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	8. Chapter 8

_On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

The next day, they find themselves playing cards again, but not, to Leonard's pleasure, in the rec room. Instead, Sara suggests the old cargo hold and he agrees with alacrity.

"It doesn't take any longer to get to the bridge if it's an emergency," she tells him, "and there's less chance of people trying to ask me dumb questions."

He coughs, a cough that sounds remarkably like "Raymond" and she rolls her eyes, then elbows him. The contact raises goosebumps along his arm, but he ignores them.

He's missed this. He's missed her.

He sinks into a sprawl against the door frame; she takes the opposite side, her booted feet nearly touching his. They'd been sitting just like this right before the time pirate incident, he remembers. Mick had barely been speaking to either of them, and even less to any other member of the team.

He glances up, over his cards and studies her briefly. She doesn't look so different, really. Nothing to tell what she's been through since then. It's been longer for her than it has for him, he recalls. Two years in Nanda Parbat.

It felt like two years with the Legion. It felt like longer.

It felt like forever. In his dreams, it still does.

She looks up, then, and he looks down, reaching out to take a card.

They're on their fourth hand when she finally speaks again.

"Leonard?"

He looks up again, then away as his gaze briefly meets hers. "Yeah?"

"What happened to you? After…after I dragged Mick back toward the ship. I mean…I know the absolute basics. Thawne grabbed you, and the next time you saw us it was months later and you didn't remember." She hesitates, correctly reading the sudden stiffness in his posture. "You don't have to tell me. I just…after yesterday, I realized that I'd made some assumptions. And I realized that none of us really know about you, and it feels like we should." Quietly: "Like I should."

He watches her draw a card, then discard one, then does the same, drawing out the motions, making them even slower and more deliberate than usual. On one hand, it might be good to…to tell her. On the other…

* * *

"I don't remember everything."

She's just about decided he wasn't going to respond when he does. She looks up in surprise, sees those blue-green eyes looking steadily at her. He holds the eye contact for far longer than usual, these days—a few seconds, perhaps—then looks down at his cards.

"I remember…I remember telling the Time Bastards off," he says. "The light was pretty bright at that point. Couldn't really see. And my hands…my hands were getting numb. I couldn't really feel them anymore. Just knew to keep them where they were."

She see him swallow, closes her eyes in sympathy. She has some idea what, as a thief, his hands mean to him. It would have seemed like one last violation before the ultimate, final one.

"And then it's blank. For a while."

She opens her eyes, sees his still fixed on the cards, outwardly calm. His tells, though, so strong for anyone who knows to look for them, are there: the stillness in a man who's constantly fidgeting, the stiffness from a man for whom a sprawl is the natural state. The utter lack of anything—not cutting ice, not withering heat, not even the insubordinate drawl—in his voice.

He picks up a card, considers it, then lays down another one. "I don't know how long. When I do start remembering again, I remember…"

He stops again, then continues, a forced air of nonchalance in his tone.

"I remember pain. Quite a lot of it, actually. When I was coherent enough to hear them, they started telling that you'd caused it."

"Me? What…me-me, or me-the-team?"

"The team. That you'd done…something. To me. And I wasn't that coherent, and Darhk…Darhk was doing something to make me even foggier, I think." He shrugs. "I bought it. When I was capable, I started helping them. Stealing things for them. And then they finally allowed me to go on a 'mission' that could encounter the Waverider, well…"

She remembers. She remembers far too well. His icy eyes, the sheer lack of recognition, except for Mick, who got a disdainful glare.

She remembers how much it hurt.

"Their mistake, there." Some satisfaction in his tone now, at least. "Then I started remembering things. Real things. Until I tracked down Mick and made him bring me to the Waverider." A glance. "You know the rest."

She just nods.

"Well," she says after a few moments—and he's not the only one who can force nonchalance into his tone, "now we have another thing in common." She waits until he's focusing on her, then nods. "The Pit. It hurt. A lot. Never really told anyone that because, well, the other side effects were a little more pressing. But I came out of it feeling like I was on fire."

"Do you dream about it?" The question is so low that she almost can't hear it.

"Not anymore. But I did. Did…do you?"

The nod is jerky and grudging. "Gideon says it's not real," he says, still in that low tone, "but that's hard to remember sometimes."

"I know." She discards a card, hesitates. "I know some meditation techniques that might help. If…"

 _If you trust me. If we're…friends…again. If you don't mind me getting close, or letting me in…_

"Sure. Why not?" He discards his own card. "Gotta warn you, though. Don't think I'm cut out for the peace-joy-tranquility-type stuff."

"Len, I learned them in Nanda Parbat. They're a little more…" She almost says "earthy," and bites her lip with amusement, wondering what he'd think of that. "…practical."

"I can handle that." His tone is light, but his eyes are serious. And it feels more like the old days than any other time since they'd left the Waverider together that last time.

"Thank you," she tells him. "For telling me."

The smile is a touch sidelong, but it's there. It's real. And so is he.

"Welcome. Thank you. And now…" He suddenly smirks at her over the cards, then flourishes them. "Gin."

"Jerk."

"Guilty. Play again?"

"Please."

* * *

"They're still in the cargo hold?"

"Yes, Dr. Palmer."

"And they're still playing cards?"

"Yes, Dr. Palmer."

"Just playing cards?"

" _Yes_ , Dr. Palmer. And talking."

"Haircut, I'm startin' to think you have a streak of…what's it… _voyeur_ in you."

"Ew, no!"

"Then leave 'em be. This is good. Real good."

xxx

… _. eight hands of gin_

 _Seven teammates plotting_

 _Six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	9. Chapter 9

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

The motley members of the great "Operation CaptainCanary" (as Jax dubs it) spend the next day waiting for Sara to announce that she's changing the ship's course away from Central City—oh, and by the way, they have their crook back on the team.

But...nothing.

"I don't get it," Jax confesses to Stein as they run some diagnostics on the Waverider's systems. "They're obviously, well, into each other. So why are they being so stupid about it?"

The older man sighs and regards his younger colleague with an expression that's both patient and melancholy. "Jefferson, that question is one that no one but the two of them can answer—and possibly not even them. But one thing I do know: the matters of the human heart are capable of confounding the most brilliant of physicists. For example, I still cannot tell you why on Earth Clarissa married me. Or stuck with me all this time." A fond look comes over his face.

Jax, meanwhile, rolls his eyes at the self-characterization, but hides a smile simultaneously. "Yeah, well, we're running out of time. We're due to touch down in 72 hours, Waverider time." He shakes his head. "I hope they get their shit together, but I really would like to surprise my mom on Christmas."

"And I, Clarissa and Lily at the beginning of Hanukkah. As you say, even if they do get the aforementioned 'shit' together, perhaps we could make a brief stop anyway." He smiles. "Certainly, Dr. Palmer has enjoyed the trappings of the holiday season."

"Heh. Yeah. Ray wanted to start playing romantic Christmas songs over the comms all the time to encourage our lovebirds, and Nate was egging him on," Jax says with a shake of his head. "Told them that might not be the greatest idea."

Stein coughs, an obvious attempt to choke back a laugh of astonishment. "No...no, probably not."

"I'm not sure I talked them out of it."

And then, as the opening notes of Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" echo throughout the ship: "As a matter of fact, I'm positive I didn't."

* * *

After the crew threatens to maroon him over his song choices, Ray sulks for a bit, but puts together a somewhat less annoying playlist. Sara, to be honest, suspects he'd had it ready all along. Ray can be a gigantic puppy of a human being at times, but there are times he's crazy like a fox—and he's not above pranking his teammates for the sheer hell of it.

In return for inflicting that on her, though, she decides the Atom has gotten a bit rusty on his nonsuit-powered self-defense skills. And Nate—who hasn't admitted contributing to the insanity but was laughing like a loon when the others converged on Ray-has barely any nonpowered self-defense skills at all.

This could be fun.

* * *

"Psst. Snart."

Leonard's been wandering the halls, looking for Sara without admitting he's looking for Sara. He knows she has other things to do besides play countless hands of gin, these days, but having regained something of their old camaraderie, he finds he craves it.

And soon enough, it might be gone forever. The thought makes his stomach plummet. But...

Fortunately, Mick's interruption had come at the perfect time to allow him to avoid more uncomfortable introspection. "What?"

Mick's leaning out the doorway of the room that, he recollects, has been set up as a makeshift training room. He wanders over, stepping aside at the last moment as two other team members exit.

Raymond looks sweaty and rather chastened, and Heywood looks even more so, with the rising shadow of a real shiner around his right eye. He blinks, then looks past Mick. Ah. And _there_ 's Sara.

"Nate, make sure you have Gideon take a look at that," she calls from the other end of the room, swinging her bo in slow arcs from hand to hand. "And next time...duck."

"She took down Pretty Boy four times and Haircut, three," Mick whispers gleefully. "This is quality entertainment. And it's about to get better."

"And you? She take you down?"

"Nah, I know she can kick my ass. And she knows I know it. Doesn't mean she won't decide to do it anyway one of these days, but it's not today. I think she just wanted to show them what she can do if they prove they have too much time on their hands."

He nods toward the other end of the room, though, and Leonard suddenly realized what he meant by "better." Because Amaya Jiwe has stepped onto the mat.

Sara can, indeed, kick the ass of just about anyone on this ship. But Jiwe is a fifth-degree black belt, and she's no pushover. Watching the two women spar is a thing of beauty, and he throws Mick a glance of appreciation, smirking as he notices how the other man's eyes are fixed on Jiwe.

He knows better than to say anything, though. Especially given that he's aware than his own eyes are fixed, mostly, on Sara.

This sparring match goes on far longer than the others, of course, but Sara eventually wins, forcing the other woman to yield before thanking her for an excellent bout. He watches her cross the room to take a drink from her water bottle and, closing his eyes, takes a deep and just slightly shaky breath. If he's trying to convince himself he needs to give up on Sara Lance, that did not help.

"Len?"

At that point, he realizes that both Mick and Amaya have left the room and Sara is staring at _him_.

Then she grins. _Shit_.

"Rusty here too?" she taunts him. "Go a few rounds _without_ your gun? Come on, if Ray can..."

He licks his lips. "You can wipe the floor with me and you know it." But even as he's talking, he's letting his jacket slip off his shoulder and pool on the floor, bending to unlace his boots.

Sara watches him without further comment, although as he straightens from removing his boots, he's pretty sure she's been watching his ass. The thought makes him smirk, grants him back a measure of the attitude he might once have brought to this meeting, and he joins her on the mats, nodding at her bo.

"Come on, we both know you don't need that."

"True." She shrugs, then leans it against the wall. "Come on, then."

Leonard knows he can fight, but he's a brawler, skills born of survival in prison and on the street. It takes, all told, less than a minute or two for her to take him down. He lands hard, flat on his back, and Sara follows up her victory by planting a knee on either side of his hips and an elbow right in the middle of his chest, holding him down easily.

But as she shakes her hair out of her face and grins at him, eyes shining, he has a hard time believing he's the one who lost.

* * *

She's not sure why she'd decided to taunt Leonard. Maybe it's just that, full of adrenaline and flush with victory, she's feeling reckless. And now they're here, in a distinctly intimate posture, adrenaline still high, and...

Maybe this is precisely what she wanted. Maybe it's what he wanted too.

He's looking up, past her shoulder. "Looks like Raymond's been in here, too."

She glances back over her shoulder, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. But... nothing. She turns back to Leonard, only to see a smirk on his face, the asshole, and he's propped himself up a little more on his elbows, his face that much closer to hers.

Well, there doesn't really need to be mistletoe, does there...

* * *

Leonard's not sure why he made the crack about Raymond and that stupid mistletoe. But Sara'd fallen for it, then turned back to mock-glare at him, and now she's leaning toward him and if he tilts his head just _so_...

Their lips just barely brush.

"Sara! There's an alarm going off on the bridge! I'm not sure..." Jax charges into the room, stops dead in his tracks, yelps, "Oh, _shit_!" and vanishes back out the door.

Sara blinks at him, then suddenly rolls off him onto the mat. He sits up quickly, bringing his knees up to, uh, recover his composure and watches as she springs to her feet and starts for the door, glancing helplessly back at him.

"Um," she says, pausing, "I need to see about that."

"Right. I..."

But then she's gone, running out the door after Jax. And another chance is gone too.

* * *

"Mr. Jackson, I would have informed Ms. Lance if the alert was anything that needed immediate attention."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know that. I just knew it was going off, _I_ couldn't figure out the reason, and no one else was doing anything about it. And why didn't you inform me that I was about to walk in on _that_?" Jax is pacing the galley in clear agitation and Mick, his only audience, isn't inclined to stop him.

"I was taking steps to make sure it wasn't anything that _needed_ swift attention." The AI sounds a bit annoyed. "The time fluctuations have changed somewhat. If we plan to continue our course for Central City for Christmas 2016, adjustments need to be made. That is something I _can_ do automatically, but Ms. Lance had requested an alert in the case of such changes. She must approve them first."

As the impact of the statement sinks in, Jax stops his pacing and stares at his older teammate, who just shakes his head in resignation.

"Well," Mick says finally, "someone's going to have to make a choice pretty soon. Just wish I knew what it was gonna be."

xxx

 _...nine Canary takedowns_

 _Eight hands of gin_

 _Seven teammates plotting_

 _Six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	10. Chapter 10

_On the 10_ _th_ _day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

The alarm is still blaring when Sara makes it to the bridge, cursing inwardly.

"All right, Gideon, what the hell..."

"Ms. Lance, I would have alerted you if it was pressing..."

No, she's not going to think about the AI eavesdropping on her and Leonard. "Well, it sort of seems pressing, given that my eardrums hurt." The claxon goes down a few decibel points, then turns off as Sara drops into the captain's chair. "Thank you. Now, what's up?"

The AI explains the situation. "I can make the course corrections with your OK," Gideon says. "Unless our destination has changed?" She almost sounds hopeful.

"I..." Has it?

It's her call to make, as captain. And yet, at the same time, it's not. They're not going there on a mission, to team up with the Flash or Oliver or Supergirl, to fight aliens or an out-of control meta. They're just playing taxi for a former team member who said he wanted nothing to do with them.

One whom, she thinks, just might have had a change of heart over the past few days.

But...

"Make the course corrections," she says abruptly. "Continue to Central City 2016. We still arrive on Christmas Day?"

"Yes. But Ms. Lance..."

"Just do it, Gideon. Please." Sara takes another deep breath. "I can always change them, but I don't want to hope...I mean, don't want to presume." With a sigh, she rises from the chair. It's late now, in ship's time, and she wants a shower. And to think a few things over.

"I'll talk to...talk to Leonard. In the morning," she says. "Just in case he wants to change his mind."

* * *

It might have gone differently if he hadn't had the dream that night.

Not the dream he'd admitted to Sara. That one's bad enough. The _other_ one.

In it, Raymond falls first. Then the metal man, frozen solid, shatters nicely. With a laugh, the man in the parka continues striding through the timeship, smirking, cold gun at the ready.

The fiery one splits into two disoriented people after a direct hit. Neither last long. The woman, the fighter with her necklace and her animal spirits, doesn't have one that can withstand absolute zero. She falls, too.

That brings Mick, roaring at him out of a corridor, fire to his ice. But Mick gets clumsy when he's angry, and he's never mastered the focus the ice can bring.

He doesn't hesitate. His partner dies.

He's standing on the Waverider's bridge, surveying the scene and smiling to himself, when there's a sound behind him, from the study.

He spins, fires. And when the glare from the gun clears and he strips off his goggles...

Sara's frozen eyes stare back at him from inside a clear shell of ice, and then, only then, does he _remember_.

 _"...what the future might hold for me...and you..."_

"No!" He surges out of sleep in a cold sweat, swinging out of bed in a panic. It only gives him a second's pause to absorb that it is his old bed, in his old Waverider room, because that doesn't mean he hasn't done something, that the Legion isn't running this ship now, because he…because he…

Still in sleep pants and long-sleeved T-shirt, he half-staggers, half-runs from the room, turns right at random, praying that he'll run into someone from the team, anyone, but especially…

"Len! There you are." And there she is, walking toward him, an odd expression on her face. "I need to talk to you. Do you still want…" But the expression modulates into alarm when she takes in the look on his face, although she makes no attempt at all to move away as he draws closer.

"Sara!" He reaches out and grabs her by the shoulders, finally letting out a breath at the warmth of her under his hands. "Sara."

Her hands go up to cover his. "Yes. Yes, Leonard. What's wrong?"

 _Yes, Leonard. What_ is _wrong?_

"I need to leave," he tells her, tone coming out harsher than intended. "I can't stay here."

"I...what?" He's rarely seen Sara off-balance, but she is now. "Why?"

"I just _can't_." He snaps and he knows he snaps, and he sees the mix of hurt and anger on her face, but he averts his eyes lest he see frosted features and wide, betrayed blue eyes. Belatedly, he snatches his hands off her shoulders. "The sooner I'm off this ship and away from you people the better."

He hears the quick intake of breath. "If that's still what you want…"

 _No…_ "It is."

"Fine." Her voice is nothing but chill now. The warmth is gone. Impossible to believe that last night… "Forty-five hours. Make sure you pack."

* * *

He doesn't pack. He doesn't really have much to pack. There's just one possession he can't leave behind…and that's precisely what he plans to do.

The cold gun's case is still in the Waverider's makeshift armory, and he stares at it for a long time before lifting the gun and nestling it inside, closing the case, locking it, and shoving the whole thing away. The heavy case slides just a few inches, coming to rest against the wall, but he's backed away already.

Mick's always laughed at him over his fondness for the gun, made typically Mick cracks about the meticulous care he takes of it, the way he's continually cleaning it and tinkering with upgrades.

Mick understands him better than many. But he doesn't really understand about this.

He's spent his life proving...trying to prove that he's better than his father. Not better as in a better person... how could a Snart ever achieve that? But better at what he does. Not a common crook. An uncommon one. World-class thief. A scalpel and not a butcher knife.

The Flash had made him feel common again. The gun had allowed him to up his game. His way of staying _more_. That's a fact he's never told anyone.

But he doesn't want it anymore. Can't trust himself with it. He doesn't know what he does want. Or maybe he does.

But he can't have it. Too many bills, come due.

He takes a step back, then another, until his back is against the doorframe, then slowly slides down the wall to sit on the floor.

He can't remember the last time he's cried, he thinks.

He doesn't even know if he can.

* * *

"So, what...that's it?" Ray voices what everyone on the bridge is thinking. "It's done?"

It's been hours since the encounter in the hallway, which Gideon had duly reported to her fellow plotters. Eventually, they'd all drifted here, sitting in jump chairs and leaning against the wall and trying to figure out where things went wrong.

Sara, Gideon reports, is beating the stuffing out of every dummy in the training room. Snart is sitting motionless in the makeshift armory. Close to each other, but so far.

"Man, just yesterday, they were, like, all over each other in the training room." Jax looks baffled. "What the hell _happened_?"

Gideon has told them that something had disturbed Snart, although she won't say what it is. And Sara isn't talking to anyone, not even Amaya... who now holds out her hands and shrugs.

"It sounds to me like Mr. Snart is scared," she says carefully. "Perhaps because of what happened yesterday? I don't know. If he won't talk to Mick, I sincerely doubt he's going to talk to me."

"I could..."

"No, Ray."

"I believe Ms. Jiwe is right, from everything Gideon has said." Stein shakes his head. "But he isn't talking. Especially not to the person he needs to talk to. And vice versa."

Mick, through all of the speculation, has leaned on the captain's chair, expression thoughtful.

"We need to get 'em in the same room," he says finally. "Gideon?"

"Yes, Mr. Rory. As you say, 'I got this.' "

* * *

The woman in question has no intention of talking to Leonard Snart. She has every intention of losing herself in physical activity in the training room, though, and she's well on her way to doing that when the AI's voice interrupts her.

"Ms. Lance?"

Sara spins to a halt in the middle of a pattern, checking the kick she's aimed at a dummy and taking a deep breath. "What, Gideon?" she asks.

"I am afraid I am about to betray a confidence of sorts. But for the sake of the crew, I feel I must tell you." A hesitation. "May I?"

"Sure." She stretches one leg, then another, then picks up her water bottle. "Go ahead."

"It is about Mr. Snart."

Sara freezes. "Mr. Snart," she says, "is not a member of this crew."

"But he was. And he still _affects_ members of this crew." Faint asperity there? She's not sure. "As such, you need to know this."

"Go on."

* * *

He's told Gideon to keep everyone out of his room. Still, somehow he's not surprised when the door slides open and Sara strolls in, face carefully blank. Leonard keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling above his bed, though, and continues shuffling the deck of cards from hand to hand.

"Go away," he tells her, with no heat in the words.

Sara doesn't waste time on small talk. "Gideon told me about the dream you had," she says abruptly. "She says you had it a lot the first few days you were recovering, but that this is the first time in at least 10 days."

"Gideon is full of shit."

She ignores that. "Is that why you're so sure you want to leave?"

"Need," he corrects her. "Need to leave."

"You didn't answer the question." Sara draws closer. "Or maybe you did."

She takes a deep breath. "Leonard, I know you did things you regret when you were with the Legion," she says. "But you're not under their thumb anymore. Gideon has confirmed that. Your brainwaves are normal. It was just a dream."

"Doesn't mean it couldn't happen."

"Lots of things could happen..."

Enough. Abruptly, he swings his feet over the edge of the bed, sits up. "Well, not this one. I won't let it."

"By running away?" Another step forward. "Don't you _want_ to stay?" Another. "You do, don't you? Or you wouldn't be so unhappy."

* * *

There. Sara sees it. A flash of something in his eyes. "We don't always get what we want," he says shortly.

Daring, she steps toward him and reaches forward, slowly, so slowly, to take his hands in hers. They're like ice and she closes her eyes, gently rubbing her thumbs against his palms feeling all the tiny scars and calluses.

"Answer the question," she says quietly. "Do you want to stay? Because if you do..."

She feels rather than sees the sigh he heaves, feels his fingers flex, just a little, under hers.

"I _can_ _'t_ stay," he whispers. "Sara...I have to get out of here."

And suddenly she's just too tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of hoping. Her hands tighten on his just one moment longer, and then she drops them, letting them fall into his lap as she takes a step back.

"Sure," she says, numbly. "Fine. Whatever. We're on the way. You won't have to ever see me…the team…again."

After another long moment of silence, she turns away and walks to the door.

Which remains closed.

"Gideon?" she asks, unable to keep the waver out of her tone. "Let me out, please."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Lance. I cannot do that."

"Excuse me?"

"I am allowed to make such decisions for the benefit of the crew and the mission," the AI informs her. "And the rest of the crew concurs. I am doing so now."

"Is this a _mutiny_?" She can't stop her voice from rising. Leonard rises from the bed behind her and stepping close enough that she can feel his warmth.

"No, Ms. Lance. Mr. Rory?"

"You get out when you two deal with your shit." It's Mick's rumbling voice, just beyond the closed door, that speaks for the team. "Not before."

" _Mick Rory_..."

"Sorry, Blondie." A considering pause. "Actually, not sorry."

The comm clicks off. Sara stares at the door another moment, then spins to look at Leonard, who looks just as baffled as she feels.

"Well," he says, and at least the numbness is out of his voice. "This is unexpected."

xxx

… _10 dreams and nightmares_

 _Nine Canary takedowns_

 _Eight hands of gin_

 _Seven teammates plotting_

 _Six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


	11. Chapter 11

_On the 11_ _th_ _day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

"What the hell do you want us to do?" Sara yells at the door, frustrated. She almost thinks she hears a snicker—Mick—on the other side, but it's quickly hushed.

Has Jax been talking? Or… A few things fall into place and she feels her cheeks redden—curse a pale complexion. But there's no further response, and she spins back around, stalking to the other side of the room and sitting down on the floor in what…she swears…is _not_ a huff.

Leonard stares at her a moment, a faint bit of amusement and…affection?...on his face before he apparently remembers that he'd just said he wanted to cut ties. He turns and moves back to the bed, sitting down heavily and then stretching out on his back, ignoring her.

She's not sure how long they sit there in silence, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. Gives her time to think about things, remember a few incidents that just might have been more than she'd originally thought, and consider his earlier words…

Finally, she straightens a little and looks over at the still figure on the bed.

"So," she says. "Maybe we _should_ talk."

"Nothin' to talk about." He continues starting at the ceiling, the picture of disinterested boredom.

She doesn't argue. "Leonard," she says instead, "how long have we known each other?"

"You know that as well as I do." Despite the blasé tone, he rolls his head toward her, and she catches the gleam of blue eyes. He's listening.

"Well, I don't know when you found out about my past, but my guess is pretty quickly after we got on board the ship. Probably before; you're not one to neglect your research. Am I right?" A quick but apparently sincere upturn of lips tells her he is. "So, I wonder…did you ever feel unsafe with me on board? The assassin? The assassin with questionably controlled bloodlust?"

A frown, and he rolls onto his side, looking at her.

"No," he says abruptly. "Never."

"Why?"

"You…" Leonard's eyes fix on her face. "You fought it."

"Are you saying you didn't?"

But the shutters are down and he looks away. The discomfort on his face is palpable. After a moment, she changes tactics. "How many people have you killed?"

A frown. He doesn't like thinking about this, Sara thinks. "Didn't keep count," he says shortly. "But I made my crews avoid it whenever possible. But I have." A brief hardening of his features. "Don't think I haven't."

"I know." Sara pauses. "I didn't keep count, either," she tells him, and now she's the one staring at the ceiling. "But many. _Many_. People who didn't deserve it at all. Contracts." She rolls her head over to look at him. "Why are you telling me _you're_ the one who can't be trusted?"

"It's not the same." His tone is flat, but she thinks there's almost a note of uncertainty.

"The hell it isn't! I wasn't even brainwashed. And when I came back, even before the Pit…Len, my own father held a gun on me." She sees him flinch, regrets the words, but… "I was a killer. He was a cop. It would have been _justified_."

Sara shrugs. "And after the Pit...well. I wasn't myself. Like you, really, when you were with the Legion, but worse. A lot worse, trust me. Do you know even Damien Darhk told my father to kill me? To put me down like a rabid dog."

A snort. Oddly, it makes her smile. "Yeah, OK, in hindsight, good idea…for him," she says. "Still, it doesn't change…."

The pause lengthens. She's both surprised and gratified when he prompts her: "Doesn't change?"

"Doesn't change what I did. That he was right, really. And still…you trust me. You always have. Even when I didn't trust myself. In Russia."

A deep, dramatic sigh. "I told you. You don't want to be a…"

"But I was. And, OK, so were you. And you don't want to be either." She holds up a hand before he can say anything. "Or you wouldn't be so worried about a goddamned nightmare."

He's silent. Then: "Maybe."

She'll take it. But…

She gets to her feet abruptly and walks over to him, stretched out there on the bed. He watches her with increasingly wary eyes until she prods him in the arm. "Shove over."

"Sara..."

"Move it, Len. Share."

And he does. She stretches out next to him with a sigh, carefully keeping their bodies from touching but altogether too aware of the warmth of him, and pillows her head on her left arm, facing him.

"Len, as far as I'm concerned, it's just one more thing we have in common, OK?" she tells him. " _You are not going to hurt this team_. I wouldn't let you even if I thought you would. Which I don't. Ever. Not in spite of the fact that you were with the Legion. _Because_ of the fact that you were with the Legion and made it back out whole."

She takes another deep breath. "I want you to stay. No..." She holds up a hand at his swift intake of breath. "...don't say anything right away. We're going to Central City now anyway. But think about it, OK?"

His eyes, so close to hers right now, are considering. Then: "OK."

"Good. Now, get some sleep. You look exhausted."

The fingers on her wrist startle her. "You'll stay?"

"Even if I had a choice in the matter."

* * *

They nap, both of them, on and off for a while. When they're both awake, predictably, the deck of cards makes an appearance.

They don't talk about the earlier conversation, but something has thawed between them. Not apparently quite what Gideon wants, since they're still stuck here, but something. And she can see it in the looks Len's giving her, the feel of the banter between them. But the ball is back in his court now. She needs to see what he's going to do with it.

Eventually, though, she says, "Hmm."

Leonard eyes her over his hand of cards. "Why 'hmm?' "

"Because I just had an idea. Gideon," she says slowly, "if I invoke Rip's old fail-safe, do you have to let me…us…out? Even though there's another qualified pilot on the ship?"

A long pause.

"Yes," the AI says finally, with what would be in another being an air of reluctance to her tone. "It would fall under the parameters."

Leonard puts his cards down. "You know the…"

"I think so. Gideon. Fail-safe code…06282158."

"Accepted, Ms. Lance. Do you wish me to open the doors?"

"How did you know that?" Leonard looks impressed. She grins back at him.

"It was a guess." Slowly, she climbs to her feet. "I found it in a log. It was Jonas' birthday."

"Are you serious?" Definitely amusement in the tone. "The high and mighty Time Master used his son's birthday for his pin number?"

Put like that… "Yup."

But Len's climbed to his own feet now, and there's another gleam in those blue-green eyes.

"Sara," he says slowly. "We could do that. But..."

"But?"

"But you and I both know there's another way out of this room. If we really wanted to take it."

"What are you..." Then she remembers. How did she ever forget? "So, you want to mess with them?

"Yep."

"Sign me up.'

* * *

It takes a while. A good half-hour perhaps. But when Leonard finally lifts the floor plate out of the way and clambers out of the passageway from his room, Sara following closely in his wake, she can't help a smile. It seems they owe the Time Masters one, oddly enough.

She takes a few steps away, then realizes he's not following and turns back.

He's standing there, by the removed panel, staring at her. Then he looks down at his hands, empty by his sides. No cold gun.

After a moment, he holds them out to her. A supplicant.

The last time they were here….

* * *

He'd held the gun on her, here. No excuses for that, no matter how frightened he been, how much he'd wanted to save her.

No gun, now. Just them. And Sara staring at him like he could both break her heart, and save it.

He's not sure what to say, really. He's making this up as he goes.

"Sara," he says then, slowly, thinking through his words. "You were right. I do want to stay. But..."

She takes a step toward him. No tears in her eyes this time. Just a concern and a…something…he doesn't deserve. He knows it. But…

Hell with it. Sometimes you have to roll the dice.

"Me and you," he says quietly, looking her in the eye. "I still want that. That future. Do...you?"

Eleven little words. And everything changes.

He can't take them back. He doesn't really want to, after all.

Sara stares at him. One beat. Two. Longer than that long-ago time in her room, he thinks. Or maybe it just feels that way.

And then she smiles, and the world starts back up again.

Because it's not a rueful smile. It's not a pitying one.

It's…

And then she's there, in front of him, and there's a question in her eyes…and they answer it together.

He can't really say he steals this kiss. It's mutual, right down to the bones. Her hands wrap around the back of his skull, his arms curve around the small of her back. Her body bends toward him; his body bends into hers.

"I suppose I should say that the answer's 'yes,'" she says finally, in a breathless moment after they part.

"I forgot the question."

It gets a laugh. "Well. That's something we can talk about."

"Talk?" Her lips have moved to his jaw; he takes a shaky breath.

"Talk. Hmmm…There's a room just off the bridge. I think that...ahh..." She has to break off for a moment as he returns the favor, kissing the hinge of her jaw. "...it's meant to be used for when the captain needs a break, a spot to rest when she or he can't or doesn't want to go back to quarters."

"And you want to talk there. Place to...sit?" He reclaims her lips, catches his breath as she molds her body to his in response.

"Futon-type thing anyway. OK to ...talk…"

"And the team?"

"The _rest_ of the team?" She's mocking him, but it's gently done. And since he can still taste her on his lips…

"Right. The _rest_ of the team."

She takes one step backward, then another, pulling him gently with her. "Let them wonder."

xxx

… _11 little words_

 _Ten dreams and nightmares_

 _Nine Canary takedowns_

 _Eight hands of gin_

 _Seven teammates plotting_

 _Six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook_ _who_ _came back to me._


	12. Chapter 12

_On the 12_ _th_ _day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _xxx_

"They're going to kill us." Ray is staring at the closed door. "Kill us. Slowly. Painfully. And then they'll find a way to bring us back-'cause that's not precisely unheard of around here—and do it again."

"Speak for yourself," Nate tells him cheerfully. "Steel, remember?"

"Steel freezes at absolute zero. And then it shatters. And anyway, you can't stay steel forever." Ray gives him a mournful look. "Sara in particular is _very_ patient."

"Huh." Nate joins him in staring at the door. "We may be in trouble."

"Uh huh."

"It's quiet. Do you think they've...ah..."

"I don't want to think about that. And wouldn't Gideon have let them out if that was the case?"

"Since Gideon stopped talking to us 11 hours ago, I have no idea. Gideon?"

No answer.

* * *

"Ms. Lance?" The AI's voice wakes Sara from a sound and contented sleep. "Can I tell them you have left the room? There is much speculation as to your...status...and we will need to emerge from the time stream soon to land in Central City."

"Mmm. No. Don't tell them yet." She stretches, drawing a muted grumble from the man whose arms are still loosely around her. "How long do we have?"

"Approximately an hour."

"Thank you." She tilts her head back just a bit, shivering as his fingers flex slowly on her bare hip, under the blanket they'd found. "Len? Time to move."

A lengthy sigh. "An hour? I'm sure we can find better ways to fill most of that..."

She squirms around in his arms and kisses him, hard, before pulling away and standing, letting the blanket fall back down to the futon-like bed. "I need to check the course and prepare. Captain now, remember?"

"That's going to take a little getting used to." His blue eyes gleam as he sits up, pulling the blanket across himself as he watches her walk casually across the room.

"The captain thing? But you'll manage...right?" A sly smile as she pauses to pick up some of the clothing they'd managed to discard on their way toward the bed.

"I think it's sort of hot, myself." He tilts his head as he learns back to watch her, smirk firmly in place.

God, she's missed him.

"I think there's a name for that," she tells him. "Insubordination? I don't know. Be nice, or I'll find a way to punish you."

"Promise?"

"Very funny. And maybe. Now, how do we want to play this?" she asks, casting about the room for her shirt. Ah. There, under the table.

"Let's let 'em suffer a little more."

"I can live with that."

* * *

Sara finishes dressing quickly and crosses the room back to him, kissing him swiftly again before dodging his (mostly joking attempt) to pull her back to the bed, winking at him and leaving to check the computers.

He hadn't really been kidding. It _is_ hot. Sara's always moved with confidence, but this is a different kind of confidence. Leadership, he thinks, suits her.

They'd communicated with actions more than words, last night, but words have been said, words that probably should have been said long ago. And if they're different people than that crook and assassin at the Vanishing Point, well, so much the better.

For first time, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, his own experiences since that day might ultimately have changed him for the better, as well. He's been a part of two teams now. He knows which one he likes infinitely better. Which one he's become willing to lay down his life for, in more ways than one.

The old Leonard Snart had gone as far out on a limb as he ever had in his life just to utter the words "me and you."

The current one intends to enjoy seeing what it's like to live them.

* * *

"Nothin'?" Mick's joined the two drowsing watchdogs in the corridor. "And nothin' from Gideon?"

"Nothing. And it's your turn," Nate tells him, climbing to his feet. "I don't know why we had to stay anyway. Unless it's to provide cannon fodder when they get out of there."

"Who says it's not, Pretty Boy?" Mick turns to stare at the door. "Huh. You'd think..."

"Have you really been staring at that door all night?"

Even Mick jumps, and Ray and Nate leap like startled cats. Sara smirks, arms folded, watching them from a bit further down the corridor. And behind her, Leonard Snart is leaning casually against the wall and studying his fingernails as if they're the most interesting thing on the ship. After a moment, he flicks a look at the trio and rolls his eyes.

Mick, frankly, looks a bit dumbfounded. "Gideon?"

"I was under orders from the _captain_ , Mr. Rory." Gideon's voice is all business now. If the AI were human, Sara thinks she'd say Gideon is trying to pretend none of this mutiny stuff ever happened.

"How did you...?"

"Oh, I need a few secrets, don't I?" She shakes her head. "Were the others in on this, or was it just you three?" But she lifts a hand before any of them can even say a word. "Never mind. Of course they were. Well, glad to contribute to team bonding, or whatever you'd call it.

"Anyway, bridge in 20. We need to prepare to leave the time stream and land." She turns to Snart, her voice chilling just a little. "And you. You might want to...prepare."

He mock-salutes her. "Aye, aye, captain."

The words draw an eye roll, and she turns away, giving the other three men a _look_ before heading toward her own quarters. Snart smirks, nods to them, and then enters his own...the door sliding open smoothly...as they watch.

Mick frowns, watching. "They're...hmph..." He shakes his head. "They're different with each other."

"You think it might have worked?"

"Haircut, to be honest, I have no idea _what_ the hell just happened."

* * *

The reentry goes smoothly, and Sara sets the Waverider down easily in the same lot on the city outskirts that Rip used the year before. Not long after, the team gathers just outside the ship, standing near the hatch and waiting.

It's snowing, just a little, and they've all grabbed cold-weather gear from Gideon's stores or fabrication room-all except for Sara, who's standing just inside the hatch in a light shirt, looking like she's lost in thought.

"Ms. Lance," Stein ventures, "you will not be leaving the ship?"

"Hmm? Oh. No." She smiles at them. "No, I'm fine. Need to...do a few things. It's OK."

"If you're sure..."

The uncertainty is killing Ray, who's wearing a red parka that looks remarkably familiar. "So, where's Snart?" he asks. "I mean, that was why we came here, right? He wanted to leave. Did he..."

"Keep your...coat...on, Raymond. I'm here." The crook in question finally ambles down the corridor, pausing at the hatch. He's eschewed his own blue parka for that familiar black leather jacket, but he's carrying cold gun's case, a sight that makes Mick frown.

"So...is this goodbye?"

The crook glances around at all of them, then peers out at the falling snow and the city he once called home...and shakes his head.

"Nah," he drawls, "you know, I think I have better things to do."

He straightens and lifts an eyebrow at Sara. "Your room or mine?"

"Yours is cleaner," she tells him.

"True, that." Still thoroughly ignoring the others, he moves closer, smirking at her until Sara rolls her eyes, grabs the front of his shirt and draws him close for a kiss that is in no way innocent. Or brief.

Mick grunts. Amaya is startled into a laugh. Ray and Nate and Jax just gape, while Stein shakes his head, a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Well, well, well," the older man says. "I think we may have been outplayed."

Released...eventually...Snart shakes his head at her, the smirk still hovering about his lips, then finally turns to the team.

"Merry Christmas. And happy Hanukkah, professor." And with those seemingly unSnartlike sentiments, he turns and strolls back into the ship.

Sara turns back to the group and raises her eyebrows at them.

"Twelve hours," she reminds them. "Be back by then." She turns her head to watch Leonard sauntering off down the corridor and then glances back with a grin. "But not too long before then, OK?"

With that, their captain waves and follows her crook into the Waverider, the hatch closing behind her and leaving six variously stunned expressions behind her.

* * *

Stein moves first, with a chuckle and another shake of the head.

"Well, I'm off to see Clarissa and Lily. If any of you need a place to go," he tells them, "remember that you are welcome at our home. Jax?"

"Might be over later, Gray. Depends on what's going on with my mom."

Stein glances at Ray and Nate. "And you two? I know your families are in Star City..."

Ray grins at him. "Got a standing invite from Barry. I think we get to be the bearer of interesting news...Mick? Amaya?"

"Nah. But thanks."

Amaya just shakes her head. She stands with Mick and they watch the other team members head out toward the city, tracking them until they vanish into the snow.

Mick clears his throat, then, and glances at her awkwardly.

"Got some places I'd like to show you," he tells her. "Well...nothing so nice as what they're talking about. Just a few spots about town you might like. And, uh, a bar."

He darts a glance at her, wondering about her reaction. But Amaya just raises her eyebrows and smiles at him. "Why am I not surprised?" she says. "And the name of this establishment?"

"Saints & Sinners. Boss an' I used to spend a lot of time there. It's not much, but...well. Good food and it's open. Good place to talk without lots of other people listening in."

Amaya tilts her head and regards him a moment, and he wonders what she's thinking. But she just smiles.

"Fitting name," she says. "Lead the way."

She tucks her arm into his as they walk off in the snow, and Mick lets her. Maybe, he thinks to himself, if there's hope for the Boss and Blondie, there just might be a little more hope to go around...

And miracles happen as Christmastime, right?

Behind them, the Waverider slowly fades from view, its shape blocking out a sizable patch of falling snow, but only for those who know to look.

And for once, all is peace for the Legends crew.

xxx

 _...12 hours...finally!_

 _Eleven little words_

 _Ten dreams and nightmares_

 _Nine Canary takedowns_

 _Eight hands of gin_

 _Seven teammates plotting_

 _Six silver snowflakes_

 _Five throwing knives_

 _Four cups of cocoa_

 _Three hidden truths_

 _Two lonely hearts_

 _And a crook who came back to me._


End file.
